


Flicker

by l_cloudy



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 05: The Fires of Heaven, Time Loop, from a certain point of view
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-16 13:34:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13055022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l_cloudy/pseuds/l_cloudy
Summary: “We were in Cairhien this morning,” al’Thor said, a sound of polite agreement. “We are in Cairhien every morning, and then we come here, and we take the palace. Every morning.”





	Flicker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fjalamoth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fjalamoth/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! I hope the holidays are going great :)  
> Thank you for such a marvellous prompt. I too have a ridiculous fondness for time loops as a trope - and this time I tried something siliighlty different; I hope it works for you!  
> Thank you again for the opportunity to write for such a beloved fandom - and for giving me so many flashbacks of the good ol times of franctic waiting between the latter books, and Asmodean's death becoming the focus of all fandom speculations. Why, Team Jordan. Why.

In the age of Legends, men had played with powers unknown. They had played with the Pattern; burned holes in time. Joar – then Asmodean, of late just Jasin Nateal – had heard of the studies, though he’d never took part in one himself. It hadn’t been his field. But he had learned some things, from Lanfear, mostly. He knew that Balefire could not be contained, merely avoided, and he knew that it unraveled all kinds of deaths except those caused by Balefire itself. He knew that not even his Lord could touch a soul so destroyed, and he took some measure of comfort in the matter.

He knew that once upon a time, a study had been conducted to observe living beings returned to life through that terrible, beautiful power. First it had been small animals: two insects, killing each other. One would win, and one would be killed – only to be brought back to life when the first insect was itself killed, with a minute strike. Then it had been cattle. At one point, men and women. They didn’t remember death; a mercy, he had assumed. It was merely a flicker of – something. The feeling that you’d said the same words before, walked down the same corridor once.

Every time the feeling came upon him, he shivered.

Caemlyn was full of shivers. He saw the Aiel Maidens looking at him, whispering that he should not be there. He heard the echo of his own booted footsteps resounding down the hallways, and it was familiar.

It could be, Jasin – Asmodean, Joar – thought, that he might be going insane.

He played a mournful, timeless march as al’Thor meets with Davram Bashere. Al’Thor paid him more attention than he did Bashere, then asked him if they should go drink something together. Al’Thor, he was sure, did not drink.

“To the memory of Moiraine Sedai,” al’Thor said, and perhaps Jasin could live with that.

Two hours later he found himself on the floor of what used to be Rahvin’s apartments – the Dragon’s apartments now. Those rooms were going to become a much more chaste place in the future, he was sure. But Rahvin had always had impeccable tastes: the carpet was thick and soft under his hands, the colour scheme just delightful, furniture and knickknacks exquisite. Al’Thor, for his part, wouldn’t have known fine luxury if it hit him the nose.

“Tell me about yourself,” the boy began, two hours ago, filling Jasin’s goblet and then his own. That had been more unnerving than the realization that Rahvin had killed him.

“Myself, my Lord Dragon?”

The room was shielded to all sounds; they could speak freely. Al’Thor could, also, punish him to his heart’s contents.

“Your life. Before… before. Your family?”

That made him narrow his eyes. “I don’t see how that would be part of our lessons.”

“It’s not.” Al’Thor was running one hand through his hair; he’d never looked so young.

“I could tell you about my father,” he offered, as if Jasin would ever give a damn. Or perhaps Jasin would; the Lord Dragon was his muse and patron. Joar might have; a good song was a good song, no matter what. Asmodean would have not, but Asmodean was – that name should not be his anymore.

“Didn’t you have any brothers?”

Joar Addam Nessosin had two brothers, once; records of their lives had not survived. For al’Thor to ask that was – suspicious. He spoke of his brothers, of his mother, of his early life in Shorelle. Al’Thor asked questions, the way he did when he was trying to prod him on the intricacies of the One Power. Truly; he did not understand.

“Moiraine knew who you are,” al’Thor said at one point. He sounded proud. “She wrote me a letter. She knew she was going to die. She said–”

“My Lord Dragon,” Jasin interrupted, firmly, with far more patience than the situation deserved. “Are you sure you want to be telling me this? He chanced a meaningful look at al’Thor’s wine goblet.

“Why,” al’Thor said. “Are you going to tell anyone? _You_?”

He had to concede the point.

“I thought I was going to marry Egwene, once,” al’Thor said at one point, as if Jasin hadn’t known. As if everybody hadn’t known. There was a good ballad to be played there, a song of young, ill-matched lovers who don’t yet know what life has in reserve for them. It would be lovely, and heartbreaking, and a little bit dull.

“I am sure young Aviendha is glad for the opportunity,” he said. “Perhaps I should play…” he was, just barely, a bit too inebriated to play, but could make a valiant attempt regardless. “ _The two_ –“

“The two lovers of summer?” al’Thor interrupted him. “No, thank you. Some other time.”

Jasin had never played _The two lovers of summer_ for Rand al’Thor before. It had been his mother’s favourite. He looked from al’Thor to his own goblet, then back again. He could hear his own heartbeat resounding in his ears, like drums.

“I,” he began, then stopped. What was there to say?

“You played it yesterday,” al’Thor said. “You spoke about your mother, and then you –”

“Yesterday,” he heard himself say. “Yesterday – we were in Cairhien.”

“We were in Cairhien this morning,” al’Thor said, a sound of polite agreement. “We are in Cairhien every morning, and then we come here, and we take the palace. Every morning.”

Al’Thor sounded remarkably sane for a man making such a statement, and  Jasin thought that, maybe, it could even be true. The Pattern was wont to do that, sometimes, weave itself into a particular motif over and over and over. It made sense that it might not manage to trap al’Thor within.

“How many mornings?” he asked, his interest piqued. “It may be a plot from,” he paused. “The Dark One. If you keep taking the city every day, you keep channelling… you may go insane before we all see tomorrow.”

Al’Thor laughed. Maybe he’d heard that before.

“A lot of mornings,” he said. “You – it’s not like that. I know why I’m stuck here. I – I chose it. You – you don’t know.”

Jasin did not know. He could ask, and he’d be told, but he would forget all about it by the time today rolled around again.

“This seems like an exceedingly poor decision.” He thought about it. Today’s battle had been bloody; he had died, and so had the Aiel girl, and Cauthon. Al’Thor cared for the girl with the foolish ardour of first-time lovers, but it was truly his friend he was dedicated to, for all that Cauthon liked to pretend they hardly knew each other.

“Is it your gambler friend?” he asked. “A shame, but if I were you, I’d cut my losses and go on. You can’t afford to replay one single day for the rest of your life just because something did not go your way.”

Al’Thor laughed. There was so much there that Jasin did not know, so much he was afraid to uncover. Al’Thor laughed, and topped his wine goblet again, and filled Jasin’s, too. He met al’Thor’s burning, defiant eyes.

“Watch me,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](https://liesmyth.tumblr.com).


End file.
